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It's late into the night when Flins notices, mug lifted halfway to his lips, that he hasn't seen his Young Master Illuga around since their mission back.
The mead hall is rife with drunk Lightkeepers - amidst the faint glowing of candles and the moonlight’s tranquil rays lazing in through open windows, amidst the dancing men and the singing choirs, it is Gabieta who eventually notices his wandering gaze and slithers in through the strain of stumbling bodies to sit next to him.
“Mr. Flins,” she says, and when Flins looks at her the usual dark circles under her dim purple eyes seem to have only gotten worse. She's not sporting her hat, nor is her coat buttoned - hair held back with just one clip and adorning a sweater that looks more ragged and run through than those of the bodies he's seen laying crooked on the field, she looks less of a Captain than she does a regular person. “Are you, by chance, looking for Squad Leader Illuga?”
Maybe it's a blessing in disguise that she can choose to look that way if she wants to, Flins thinks. Not many have that sort of freedom - not many get the chance to simply slip out of their attire after a day comes to its timely end. He looks away and Gabieta leans back on her chair to close her eyes and it's here that Flins replies, “Yes.”
“Considering that I didn't see his attendance back in Piramida’s logs tonight,” Gabieta says, voice as monotone as if she's simply telling him about the weather, “You may have to give up on your search.”
Flins keeps quiet, the subtle implications of her words hanging on a reel in the back of his mind. His gaze sweeps over the hall again - and there old man Nikita is at the head of the table, sporting a full mug, talking animatedly to his juniors and laughing belly-wide and hearty and as if he's either unaware of said logs or if he's just going a little crazy in grief already.
He hums, and the Lightkeeper next to him continues, “But you know Captain Illuga. He could just be swamped with work.”
It wouldn't be the first time for him to be swamped enough to forget updating his logs, but Illuga is someone who has never missed one of these gatherings - mourning the dead is as important to him as keeping people alive. Grief is a lace-ebbed chain on him, curling over his heart and wrapped in a delicate string around his neck.
Would it be too off, then, to imagine the worst?
Flins tries to imagine Illuga’s body. He tries to imagine him wrangled and wrong and twisted on the field. He tries to imagine a halo of blood over the crown of his head, tattered pieces of brown coat forming paper wings under his arms, curling over his form. He tries to imagine Aedon circling his body, fearful and alarming and a lighthouse amidst purple fog that nobody around has the eyes to see. He thinks of the ghosts back in the Final Night Cemetery - whether they could welcome Illuga, whether they could let Flins build a second gravestone next to his own. He tries to -
A physical tremble shakes his body, but one that is too light for the Squad Captain next to him to notice. “I see,” he says.
And then he gets up, puts his half-finished mug of crude drink aside, and heads out of the hall.
He wanders the fields around Illuga’s supposed mission tonight. There's a solitary dead body propped up against a rock that Flins does not recognize but knows Illuga will eventually come back for to bury, and so he does him the service and marks the grave with a broken lantern and kneels in a quick prayer. When he gets back up, it's all quiet again.
Next, he takes the route back to Illuga’s usual patrol. Encounters Rollon, indulges in a polite greeting before being asked, “Did you see Mr. Illuga, sir?”
“No,” Flins replies, hoping his dejection is kept well within the confines of his chest. “Have you not heard from him?”
“No,” Rollon mimics, though one of his hands come up to rest under his chin thoughtfully. “Last I heard, Captain was trekking to Nasha Town….”
He's barely done before Flins has warped out of existence, so he only continues to finish his sentence a little helplessly: “....around yesterday evening….”
There's no sign of him, of course, and so he gives up at midnight for a quick break.
The Flagship is no better place to be. Though there is Varka at the bar and a surprising Nefer that sits next to him, legs crossed and claws laced around a delicate glass of wine.
Loud and raucous, familiar names and familiar hands ghosting his skin as he passes through, Flins feels like something incorporeal until Varka’s scooting over to the next seat and Nefer’s guiding him to the one in the middle with a hand curled around his hip, almost as if he'd fall down or die or whisk himself inside the nearest candle-flame he can find if she doesn't. And then he's sat down and he feels shit-faced already until she says, “Goodness, Mr. Flins. You look as though you're about to wither away into a speck of dust.”
“I might,” Flins admits.
“O-ho, Mr. Flins,” Varka grins at him, large arm clapping his way over the shorter man’s shoulders and pulling him close in a one-armed hug. Nefer watches with a smile laced very nicely into her default smug-like features. “Am I sensing heartbreak?!”
“Woe is me,” Flins sighs, much to Nefer’s increasing amusement. “For being as easy as I am to be read through by my comrades.”
“All you're easy at is flowery words,” Varka tuts, though he hustles back into his point and squeezes Flins’ shoulder so tight it almost smacks a non-existent lung out of him. “Well! Who’s the breaker?”
“Who could it be?” Nefer drawls knowingly, and when Flins looks at her it's with a sweating brow and a silent plea to stop, don't say it out loud. She only shrugs. “There's only a handful of people that Mr. Flins seems to really tolerate, after all.”
“Very true.” The Knight looks thoughtful as he spares a glance at the Lightkeeper and tilts his head. “Surely, it can't be one of the ladies…”
Nefer laughs out loud so suddenly it scares the both of them. And then she shakes her head and raises a hand in surrender and tries to hold in her snicker. “Apologies. In any case,” she pauses, looking Flins directly in the eye. “As much as I’d like to know who it is that ails you so, I must tell before I forget: Captain Illuga came by.”
Flins sits up straight so suddenly Varka almost gets knocked off of his chair. “He did?”
“Yesterday,” Nefer clarifies, and she notes the way his shoulders slump a little again. “He dropped by the Curatorium when Jahoda was in, and so I only know this from her account.”
“Did Ms. Jahoda mention why?* Flins asks, eyebrows scrunching. “I must admit I cannot imagine what sort of business Squad Leader Illuga could have had with the Curatorium.”
“I can ask. Also, he helps with an odd job or two sometimes,” Nefer says, her gaze turning curious when Flins looks confused. “What with being able to discern the Wild Hunt’s speech, and all. Compensated for it, as well. Has he not told you this?”
“No, though it is not my place to know.” The Lightkeeper nods at her, before getting up. “Thank you, Ms. Nefer. I shall go and inquire from Ms. Jahoda myself, if that is alright.”
“By all means.”
“Not one drink?” Varka calls out to his retreating figure. Flins only shakes his head before he disappears into the throng of people and out the door. The Knight lets out a dejected whistle. “Phew. In a rush, huh?”
Nefer turns to him, a finger thoughtfully circling the rim of her glass before she brings it up to her lips. “Are you sincerely unaware of his affections towards Mr. Illuga?”
Varka blanches. “What? He likes him?”
“Astoundingly so,” Nefer takes a sip. “It's almost sickly.” When she looks at him he's suddenly looking akin to a wet dog, drooping over the counter. “Oh?”
“Wonder why he didn't mention it to me…”
“Well, Mr. Flins does tend to be a little secretive in that regard…”
“How would you know, then…?”
Nefer only takes another sip.
Ashru greets him with a loud purr when Flins enters the Curatorium, though he does go back to sleep on the counter as soon as Flins closes the door behind him. His eyes scan the room - and sure enough, Ms. Jahoda is patting down her shorts and walking towards him with that customer - service smile on her face before saying, “Hello! How may - “ She stops, and blinks at him. “Mr. Flins?!”
“Ms. Jahoda.” Flins tips in a small bow, and Jahoda looks so flustered all of a sudden that she almost does the same. “I hope I am not disturbing you so late at night.”
“Oh, no, what could a gal like me have to do so late?” Though she sounds like she's about to shoot out of the stratosphere any second she guides him towards a sofa and asks, “W-Would you like any refreshments?”
Flins smiles. “No need.”
“O - oookay.” Jahoda sits on the opposite of him, and tries her very best to look professional. “Well, what can the Curatorium help you with, Mr. Flins?”
The Lightkeeper gets straight to the point. “I was wondering if you've seen Captain Illuga around?”
“Captain Illuga?” Jahoda cocks her head, as if thinking. “Oh! Yeah, he was here yesterday night. Some, err, shipments for his food truck were stolen, recently, and so he's asked for an investigation. That's all.”
Stolen shipments? Flins will have to think about that later. “Did he, perhaps, mention where he would be going after your visit?”
Jahoda shrugs. “Nope. Why, is something wrong?*
“No.” In another time, he might have asked for help. But it's been barely a day, and he's probably looking a little crazy, and Illuga’s probably back at Piramida by now.
He gets up, and bows again. “Thank you, Ms. Jahoda. May you have a pleasant night.”
He finds the Traveler standing in front of the food truck when he reaches Cliffwatch Camp, and almost stutters in his walk.
“Traveler?” He calls out, softly. Watches her turn and wave with a smile before he strolls up, hands behind his back and blinking at the worn notebook in her hands. “When did you arrive back in Nod-Krai?”
“I didn't,” she admits, sheepishly. “I only teleported to drop off the recipe book Captain Illuga shared with me.” She shows him the book - all in it's torn-leather, worn-down glory. “I only really needed to copy them into my own, so…”
“I see.” He runs a finger across the book, and it's warm despite the scratchy surface. Much like its owner. “Did you see him, then?”
“Only just this morning when I came to ask for it,” The Traveler says.
“Did he, perchance, mention his plans for the day?”
“Did you lose him?” She teases, and breaks into a big smile when Flins turns away a sheepish head. “He mentioned having to drop by the Frostmoon Sanctuary to meet with Lauma, though I couldn't tell you why.”
On Hisii Island, then? “Alright. Thank you.”
The last time he'd come here was when Ms. Lauma had invited them all to her newly-finished library, and when Flins steps up into it now at this time of night, it is only her that’s sitting down there, with a book open in her hands.
Antlers doused in moonlight, hair tousled into a rough braid possibly by the hands of children, sheer cloth draped over her that only makes her look more holy - Flins finds himself sucking in a non-existent breath before he knocks a finger against one of the arches to catch her attention. “Ms. Lauma, I hope I am not intruding.”
When Lauma looks at him it's with crinkling eyes and a small smile. “Ah, Mr. Flins. What brings you here so…late at night?”
“I must confess I have only a small reason.” He stands with that gentlemanly posture that's been beaten into him from Archons-know-when and almost realizes how utterly insane he must look to the Gods - scampering about here and there in search for a man that could be well back at home. “Have you seen Captain Illuga today?”
“Ah, yes,” is her response. She puts down her book and clasps her hands in her lap. “I met him in Nasha Town earlier in the morning when collecting some post for my library, and he helped carry back some of the books to Hisii Island.” Here she turns a little thoughtful. “He did come by again earlier a few hours ago, having misplaced some of his own belongings amidst mine.”
A few hours ago? “Did he find what he was looking for?”
Lauma nods. “Yes. He left just as quickly as he arrived.”
“Did he mention,” and maybe he's sounding a little desperate, now. “Where he'd be going?”
“No.” Lauma looks at him curiously. “Mr. Flins, is all well? You look tired beyond belief. Come, rest for a while.”
“Ah, no, no, everything is fine.” He waves a hand in surrender, trying to sport a smile of his own, before stepping out of the library and giving her one of his acclaimed bows. “I must take my leave, Lady Moonchanter. May the night treat you well.”
The priestess only gives him a worried look, but says regardless, “And may the Moon light your path this night as well,” she says, and then adds a little cheekily: “And guide you right to your beloved Captain.”
Flins almost coughs out loud, and is only accompanied by the sound of Lauma’s stifled giggles as he leaves.
He does end up looking over at the Moon, on the outskirts of Hisii Island. For a moment, he wonders if he should traverse the path it lights for him, but then shakes the thought out of his mind.
Maybe he should make his way back to Piramida. It'd certainly be easier.
He's thinking about his options when a softness collides with him, and his eyes gaze over a kuuhenki floating next to him, looking back curiously.
“Ah, it's you.”
When he turns towards the voice, his body begins to feel a little slack. “Ms. Columbina?”
“The very same,” she says, floating towards him with a sort of mischief he'd never expected to see in his Goddess. “What ails you, Mr. Flins? All night you have walked under my light with dejection and slumped shoulders, and I admit I grow more curious by the second.”
Flins can only give her a strained smile. “There is no need for your concern, Ms. Columbina. I have just been trying to find an acquaintance….”
“Is it not that silver-haired Captain you're always joined at the hip with?” When Flins splutters a little, she giggles and continues. “Why, I believe I saw him make merry towards your lighthouse just a while ago.”
If he begins to jog in the general direction of the lighthouse immediately after his Goddess takes her leave, it is only her that can make fun about it.
For some unbeknownst reason, Ineffa is standing guard at the front of the isle, inspecting one of the gravestones when Flins shows up.
“Halt,” she says, her sweeping arm pointed towards the Lightkeeper in a pointed stance. “Mr. Flins, are you not supposed to be in Piramida?”
He genuinely can't fathom her being here. For a second he just stands. And then he blinks. And then, “Ms. Ineffa, are you not supposed to be back in the Krumkake Craftshop?”
“No. My duties for tonight lie here.”
“But…why? What about Miss Aino?”
“Aino is currently engaged in a deep sleep,” Ineffa says, before her face contorts into one of momentary distress, “She is scheduled to wake up in about - estimating - 23 minutes, for a nightly snack.”
“A nightly snack?” Flins tries to look over her shoulder to no avail. “Should you not be heading back, then?” He tries to chuckle, act nonchalant, try to appear as though she's not the only one left remaining between his sanity and the graveyard. “Doubtless she will suffer the most dire of stomachaches if left alone…”
“A fair point.” She looks at him. “Would you be willing to take over my duty for tonight, Mr. Flins? I believe I will “owe” you one.”
“Happily,” Flins nods, completely glossing over what this duty even is.
“That is good. Allow me to take a moment and inform Mr. Illuga.” If she notices the way Flins’ entire body goes slack for a second she's very nice about not saying anything about it. “Your role is to not let anyone inside of the Lighthouse tonight.”
“May I,” Flins says, controlled, “Be the one to inform him?”
“No,” Ineffa says. “Be vigilant, Mr. Flins.”
He's pacing around after Ineffa leaves the cemetery, unsure of whether he should go up and confront Illuga or if he's just been overthinking this whole night, until he hears the crack of a boot against worn metal and turns his head and locks eyes with him.
Captain Illuga. Young Master Illuga, in all his glory, standing over the make-shift stairs and with Flins’ dog wagging his tail in his arms - coat off, skin exposed to the winter air, hair ruffled, smacks of stationary clinging onto his rumpled sweater.
“Sir Flins,” he says, and he sounds as surprised as he can get. The dog barks, clambers out of Illuga’s hold to run towards him instead. “Come up?”
“You're the strangest man I've ever met.” Illuga hands Flins a mug of water and then keeps a mug of it for himself as he stands, unaware of the way the older Ratnik watches him. “I'm not there one night, and you scour all of Nod-Krai for me?”
“Even a single night can be cause for worry, Master Illuga,” Flins says, a little too quickly, a little too heatedly - he must realize it, too, with the way he clamps his mouth shut then and looks elsewhere. "You have never missed a banquet, either."
“I know.” Illuga doesn't look at him, doesn't let him go inside the lighthouse, doesn't let him do much or anything other than simply sit outside amidst the rising dawn. “I was…I had something to do.”
“Mm.”
“My old man forgot to sign the logs for me, didn't he?”
“Yes.” Flins looks at him quietly, and Illuga meets his gaze. He wants to ask about the stolen packages and he wants to ask about the odd job or two for the Curatorium and he wants to ask about helping Lauma and he wants to ask about everything, but mostly he wants to ask: “What are you doing that needs to be so secretive?”
“Nothing for you to worry about,” Illuga replies, coolly. “Let's go home.”
It's good that he's not a broken down body in a field and it's good that Aedon is simply resting inside of his lamp and it's good that his coat isn't in wing-shaped tatters, but Flins does not know what those things mean for him now.
They haven't walked together in a while. They haven't talked about that lean in a little, Sir Flins, and the just come back in one piece, Sir Flins, and they sure as hell haven't talked about the way he'd run up towards him to pull his body down to his height with the lapels of his coat and kissed him seconds after returning, in front of Nikita and the Lightkeepers and the sun and the moon and the stars and the false sky.
They haven't really talked a lot since then.
When they reach Piramida, Flins notices a couple of Ratniks sigh in relief at the sight of Illuga next to him. Doing his best not to dwell on it, he stops outside of the Captain’s place and watches him open the door to step inside.
Illuga turns. “I'll see you tomorrow, Sir Flins.”
His voice is soft. Almost regretful, as if he wants to invite him in and talk more - but Flins has made it a point in the past to not do so, and he isn't about to press.
“Sleep well, Master Illuga.” Flins wants to stay. He wants him to ask him inside and he wants to say yes and he wants to engulf the younger man with all that makes him ill and horrible and overwhelmed with emotion. “See you tomorrow.”
Tomorrow comes.
Nikita hands him a post-it when he finds him standing next to their mailbox. Flins unfolds it and reads, Come to the lighthouse.
It's barely ten in the morning, but Flins finds his feet working before he consciously makes the decision to go.
It's quiet. It's always quiet in the Final Night Cemetery, but his fluffy-white dog isn't around and the ghosts are eerily quieter than they usually are, and everything feels a little different. Touched on. Messed with. His box of jewels and rocks is still there and hidden between his books where he'd left it, but despite that there is an unusual air seeping under his skin, coiling over his nerves.
There's now a makeshift wooden door to what used to be an opening inside the lighthouse, and there's a note stuck on it: Knock twice.
Thrice if you're Flins.
Flins almost wants to do it twice. But curiosity overtakes him and he follows the instruction - barely seconds later, there's a crash from beyond the door and a smattering of seething voices telling others to calm down! what the hell?!
The Lightkeeper blinks. And then the door opens just a sliver, and a very sober Varka peeks out. “Hey there.”
Flins thinks he's in a hallucination. “...Mr. Varka?”
“The very one,” Varka nods. “You're up early, no?”
“I-I can say the same about you?”
“Stay outside for a minute, OK?” There's a squabble of noises behind him and from the bit that he can see Flins can just barely tell Varka’s large palm motioning at something - someone? - to quiet down? “I'll come get ya.”
“O…kay?”
The door shuts on him. The Fae stands there, flabbergasted, devoid of words for the first time in his life, unaware of everything that's happening. It makes his stomach feel a little empty. He drops his arms to his sides and stands there, fruitlessly, before the door opens again and Varka’s pulling him inside.
Inside, where it's decorated from head to toe. Ribbons clutching on for dear life, random poles stuck around the room for them to wrap around, a Hapy Birth spelled haphazardly in golden-tinted balloons, candles upon candles dripping wax onto the floor.
Careful to let Flins’ arm go as soon as he's inside, he steps towards a flurry of people and turns his back to them.
Flins has only just processed his friends - every single person he'd visited just yesterday - standing there when they all burst out:
“Happy birthday!”
Huh? Huh? Huh? For a second, he wants to turn back and check a calendar and maybe the time. And then he remembers that it has been October for a very long time now and that he's been gaping for over 20 seconds and there are faces looking at him with concern over excitement, now.
Illuga's the one that comes forward and clamps his shoulder tightly. “This is where you pretend to be excited, Sir Flins.”
“I am excited,” Flins tells him, but he isn't sure if he's processing it correctly. “Is my expression not conveying it?”
“You look scared,” Illuga tells him in a whisper. By then the party’s already dispersed, and he’s already put a hand on the small of his back. “Remind me to not plan a surprise party for you again, okay?”
“Duly noted.” Flins lets him guide him around, liking the warmth of his hand on his waist and the subtle strength with which he drags him around, though he does not say anything about it. “Thank you, though.”
“Mhm.” The Captain’s just about to turn them into a secluded corner when another hand slips over Flins’ shoulder and stops the two of them.
The taller man turns. “Ms. Nefer, Ms. Lauma, it's nice to see you.”
“Likewise,” Nefer says. The Moonchanter is next to her, their arms linked ever so naturally, smiling at him brightly. “Your Captain seems to have a knack for timing, considering today is my only off day in a very long time.” She smirks when Illuga avoids her gaze. “Happy birthday.”
“Thank you.” Flins thinks he's going to be saying that a lot. He doesn't mind it, though. “It is good to see the two of you here.”
Lauma points towards a chair, where a small number of boxes sit. “The fruits basket is from us.”
Illuga tries to hold back his smile. Flins notices, and slightly bumps him. He smiles at the ladies again. “A most generous gift, Ms. Lauma. Thank you.”
They all greet him in turns - Ineffa holds Aino up for her to feed a bite of Krumkake cake to Flins, admonishing him with a I didn't see you at my seminar last week!, Jahoda gives him a surprisingly beautiful, ornate box that she claims to have found ‘just lying around in some corner’, Varka a bottle of Mondstadtian Dandelion Wine, Durin shyly handing him a beautiful, red gemstone - all of this that Illuga grabs in his stead, running back and forth the now-designated Gift Chair before Flins can say anything or attempt to stop him.
It's here that the Traveler somehow picks up on Flins’ distress, sweeping in to grab the shorter Ratnik by the shoulders and forcing him still when he, in turn, tries to take the gift from her hands. “Whoa there, Squad Leader. I can put it away on my own. Try to enjoy your own party.”
Flins looks at him. He planned this?
Illuga smiles sheepishly. “Sorry. I guess I need my hands full.”
The Traveler raises a brow. “Care for a drink Cap? I think you'd enjoy one.”
“Ah,” he sounds nervous. “Sure? What are we having?”
Jahoda scuttles by with two glasses almost on cue - shoves one into Illuga’s hands, and says, “Well, we opened the Dandelion Wine when you weren't looking.”
The Traveler holds in a cough, while Illuga looks scandalized. “B-But - That's Sir Flins’ - !”
Flins only pats him on the shoulder comfortingly. “Not to worry, Young Master. I can always ask Mr. Varka for more.”
The shorter man turns to him with furrowed brows. “But it's a gift!”
“That I'm glad to have the chance to drink on my birthday.” Flins takes the other glass Jahoda hands him with a smile, and pointedly clinks it against the one in Illuga’s hands. “Cheers?”
Illuga frowns, but sighs and relents anyways. “Cheers.” He takes a sip, and Flins can tell that the burn of the drink does not suit him - even if the drink itself is on the gentler side.
Paimon wags a finger at Illuga. “We’ll teach you how to loosen up soon enough!” She floats happily around Flins, then. “Happy birthday! Paimon hopes the surprise party, well, surprised you!”
Flins chuckles. “It did. Thank you, Paimon. I am thoroughly glad to see you and the Traveler here.”
Talking ensues. A lot of how have you been, where have you been, how are your travels? Flins tunes out, admittedly, in the middle of it all - turns his head and sees the way Illuga talks back just as animatedly as the rest to them, waving his hands and laughing and nodding at every sentence. It's a good side to him. It's a side so far and beyond his usual quietness that for a second Flins wishes he can freeze time, here and now. His cheeks are rosy and his eyes are crinkling with smile lines and his hair is swept over his face, pinned back with a red clip to match his more casual ensemble of clothes for the day.
Eventually, then, Illuga finally gets him into a corner, away from everyone's eyes and ears.
“Happy birthday,” he says, voice merely away from a breath.
Flins leans in, brushing the hair out of Illuga’s eyes, lingering over the shell of his ear. “What a thoughtful man you can be, Master Illuga,” he murmurs. “Even I did not remember…”
“Someone has to.” Illuga’s on the tips of his toes, his nose barely ghosting over Flins'. Longingly, and hesitatingly at the same time. “Someone should keep track of the nicer things.”
Flins sees the way he's avoiding eye contact. His eyes are closed, eyebrows furrowed in an unsure way. The sounds of laughter from beyond their little space permeate his very being, crawl into the very crevices of his flame-alighted soul, form a permanent cavity inside him to fill. The sounds of people tripping, of a scolding, of cutting cakes and crinkling papers and balloons popping - all things that Flins never knew he could desire. Could want, even a little.
“For the first time in my long life I think I have been sincerely caught unawares,” Flins says. Illuga laces a hand on the back of his neck, pulling his head down enough for him to press his lips to his cheek. “Is this why you would not let me inside? Why I could not find you yesterday?”
“Maybe.” A kiss to the lobe of his pointed ear.
“I was worried, you know?” Flins smiles when Illuga pulls away to finally, finally look at him. “I almost assumed the worst. I think some of the others did.”
“I'm going to get a big scolding, aren't I?” Illuga huffs out a breathy laugh.
“You deserve it, Young Master.” It's the taller man’s turn to lean in, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “You forget that you are a most valued person to the rest of us.”
When he pulls back to look at him again, Illuga’s smile is a little crooked. “And am I valued to you, Sir Flins?”
“Why, you are the very dawn to me, Master Illuga.” He brings his face close, wanting nothing more than to press the smaller Ratnik inside his very chest, the flame of his soul inside his very heart, silver-crimson--blue eyes alighting his very nerves. “For my life seems to hold no real meaning unless you are here.”
A hand clasps into his, Illuga pressing his palm to his chest. He hums a little happily. “Maybe having you wax poetic can't be so bad if it's about me.”
Flins huffs out a laugh. He places his free palm on his cheek, then, bringing his lips close. “May I?”
“You have to ask?” Illuga retorts.
Eyes closing, leaning close, lips ghosting over each other, the world closes in -
“Hey, here they a- OH!”
They immediately detach, jumping like frazzled cats from each other and snapping their heads towards the voice.
Varka’s eyes are nearly bulging out of their sockets, mouth agape as he stares at them. “You! You-!”
He's almost immediately muffled when Albedo slaps a hand on his mouth, dragging him behind as quickly as he can with his frail arms. “Mr. Varka, let's tone it down with the drinks a little….”
When they look at each other next, Illuga says, “Care to get out of here, Sir?”
Flins nods. “Gladly.”
They barely make it past the steps down without being called out to, and all Flins does is slip a hand into his as he brings him to his usual fishing spot, far and removed from the eyes of their friends. Here Illuga leans against the cliff rocks and stares over the ocean and doesn't react when his fellow Lightkeeper steps in front of him, lacing a hand around his waist and bringing his face close.
“May I kiss you now?”
“I don't know,” Illuga murmurs. He raises an arm and traces his thumb down Flins’ cheek, warm and gentle. “The mood up there was a lot nicer.”
Flins frowns, physically drooping a little. “I must exact revenge on Grandmaster Varka somehow…”
Illuga snickers. He brings his face in and finally presses his lips against his for a second, before pulling back and asking, “Right now?”
The Lightkeeper looks as though he's been set on fire. Lacing his arms around Illuga’s waist, he pulls him flush to his chest. If he were a dog, Illuga thinks idly, when Flins leans in, he'd be wagging his tail like crazy.
“Perhaps later,” is the last thing to leave Flins’ mouth before he, in turn, finally envelopes his Young Master’s lips.
Ineffa stays behind to help Illuga clean up the place while Flins does the polite thing and says his goodbyes. By the time everyone's left, Aino’s leaning over Illuga’s shoulder, the both of them sound asleep on the sofa in the middle of the room. Quiet snoring is the only thing the other two are left with.
Ineffa looks at Flins. “I neglected to wish you a happy birthday before, Mr. Flins.” She holds up a mechanical hand that substitutes itself for an equally mechanical conical shape, and out flutters a pop of party ribbons and glitter. “Does this suffice?”
“Very much so.” Flins chuckles. “Thank you."
“Anytime.” She looks back at the small girl, her job done. “I would like to take Aino home, but she looks very comfortable like this. I almost feel - self-scanning - a peculiarity upon this scene.”
“You would not want to disturb her,” Flins clarifies. “Yes?”
Ineffa doesn't blink. Doesn't really do much of anything. But there's a fondness to her eyes. “Yes.” She turns to Flins, nods her head. “Still, Aino and I will take our leave. Thank you for considering us friends.”
There's a warm glow in his chest as he watches her carry the kid out, waving all the while as they disappear. Slotting himself into Aino’s position, he cradles Illuga’s head into laying over his lap, legs propped up as comfortably as they can get on the sofa.
It takes only a few tens of minutes before he's shifting, rubbing his eyes and glancing up. “Sir Flins.”
“Awake, my dear nightingale?”
“Stop that.” Illuga lifts himself up only halfway, climbing into Flins’ lap and propping his legs up to his chest in a successful cuddling position, if the way Flins curls his arms around him instantly is anything to go by. “Mm. This is nice. Let's sleep in…”
“Your old man would have to object,” Flins mumbles between a peck to his cheek. “Let us go to sleep early today instead, hm?”
“Can't,” Illuga rubs his head into Flins’ neck, almost catlike. “Have work tonight. Pops can do with a little anger.”
Flins laughs quietly. “How disrespectful, Master Illuga. Surely you do not intend for me to get scolded, as well?”
“Pops has been wanting to scold you for a long time,” Illuga turns his head up, and Flins leans in for him to kiss. In between, he continues, “And now he has a good reason to.”
Flins likes the softness of Illuga’s flesh. He almost wants to bite down on his lip, draw blood, drink it down, let it be the only thing to course his veins. “Good reason?”
“Well,” Illuga kisses him one last time, long and nice and comfortable, before pulling away to breathe. Looks into his pale, yellow eyes, and says, “He will intend for you to become a son-in-law, I think.”
“Proposing when we've yet to have dinner together,” Flins muses, “Why so speedy?”
“There's no telling how long I'll live,” Illuga mumbles. His eyes are closed and he's golden-warm and his hair has fallen out of his clip long, long ago. “It makes sense for me. You, though…”
“It makes just as much sense for me,” Flins says, softly. “Even if I am meant to outlive you.”
“So you admit it?”
“Admit what?”
“That you're some being beyond my mortal comprehension, or whatnot.” Illuga sits up a little straight, though all he does now is press their foreheads together and stay still. Stay there, arms curled around the taller Ratnik’s shoulders. “Will you ever tell me?”
“I could tell you now.”
Illuga tilts his head. “No. Not now.” He takes a second to think. “I'd like to hear it when the only thing in my mind isn't just wanting to take you home and keeping you there.”
Flins holds in a snicker. “What a quaint thought.” He pauses, and then says, “On that note, there is something I must ask you, as well.”
“What is it?”
“Ms. Nefer told me something about your taking odd jobs around….”
Illuga begins to sweat.
(They do get scolded as soon as Nikita sets his eyes on them.
Well, almost - until his eyes set on their hands clasped together, almost hidden behind Flins’ coat. It's here that he simply raises an eyebrow and says, “I won't be so lenient next time.”
The two of them can only smile.)